“It is Avondale, the lord’s son,” cried one: “I know him by his spirit. Long life to you! and glory, and pleasure attend you”—“Long life to your honour!” exclaimed one and all; and in a moment the enthusiasm in his favour was as great, as general, as had been at first the execration and violence against him. The attachment they bore to their lord was still strong. “Fickle, senseless beings!” he said, with bitter contempt, as he heard their loyal cry. “These are the creatures we would take to govern us: this is the voice of the people: these are the rights of man.”—“Sure but you’ll pity us, and forgive us; and you’ll be our king again, and live amongst us; and the young master’s just gone to the mansion; and didn’t we draw him into his own courts? and ain’t we returning to our cabins after seeing the dear creature safe: and, for all the world, didn’t we indade take ye for one of the murderers in the uniform, come to kill us, and make us slaves? Long life to your honour!” All the time they thus spoke, they kept running after Lord Avondale, who urged on his horse to escape from their persecution. A thousand pangs at this instant tortured his mind. This was the retreat in which he and Calantha had passed the first, and happiest year of their marriage. The approach to it was agony. The fever on his mind augmented. The sight of his children, whom he had ordered to be conveyed thither, would be terrible:—he dreaded, yet he longed to clasp them once more to his bosom. The people had named but one, and that was Harry Mowbrey. Was Anabel also there? Would she look on him, and remind him of Calantha? These were enquiries he hardly durst suggest to himself. Lord Avondale hastened on. And now the road passed winding by the banks of the rapid and beautiful Allan, till it led to the glen, where a small villa, adorned with flower gardens, wood and lawn, broke upon his sight. His heart was cheerless, in the midst of joy: he was poor, whilst abundance surrounded him. Collingwood rang at the bell. The crowd had reached the door, and many a heart, and many a voice, welcomed home the brave Lord Avondale. He passed them in gloom and silence. “Are the children arrived?” he said, in a voice of bitterness, to the old steward, whose glistening eyes he wished not to encounter. “They came, God bless them, last night. They are not yet awakened.” “Leave me,” said Lord Avondale. “I too require rest;” and he locked himself into the room prepared for his reception; whilst Collingwood informed the astonished gazers that their lord was ill, and required to be alone. “He was not used,” they said, as they mournfully retired, “to greet us thus. But whatever he thinks of his own people, we would one and all gladly lay down our lives to serve him.” CHAPTER XCIII.